Because I know everyone is on the edge of their seats, here is my woeful tale of influenza. I did test positive for the flu, like so many people out there. Apparently there is a nifty nasal swab test wherein the nurse takes the world’s longest q-tip and sticks it up your nose. This also confirmed to me that I’m in the right career. For the most part as an editor I work happily alone in my little office at work or at home, I deal with words, and not many clients, and no one needs me to shove a q-tip up their nostril.
I got a prescription for Tamiflu and when I started taking it Monday I felt sort of OK, but on Tuesday I felt absolutely horrible: Bubonic Plague on a cracker horrible, crying jag and wishing I could just sleep for 36 hours straight horrible. I could barely get out of bed. And then at some point Tuesday night I had a cathartic come to Jesus sweatathon and lost about 5 pounds in sweat through my scalp and back, which is also the exact bulk amount of Girl Scout thin mint cookies I’d eaten over the last few weeks so it all evened out and I didn’t even have to go to the gym.
Walgreens conveniently had a sale on Lysol Wipes and I have cleaned every inanimate object in this house and in my purse. Seriously, when was the last time you sterilized your cell phone or your car lock clicker? Made you think, didn’t I? So far the girls are just fine, and as I type this I am washing sheets and towels in hot water and with a good dousing of color safe bleach…again. Hubby tested negative for flu but is battling his own ear and sinus crud.
As far as the timing of all of this, I just sent four large transcripts to a client last Friday for review and this week was a slow period for me at the office. It was as if karma conceded, “OK, now would be a convenient time for you to fall apart.” I’m a planner, even when I don’t intend to be.
I’m sure you can’t tell, but I’m also one of those annoying people who finds humor in just about anything and as I was slumped down in my chair in the waiting area at the doctor’s Monday, flipping through a surprisingly current magazine, I glanced around at the other patients. To the left was an elderly woman with a walker. To the right was an elderly woman in a wheelchair, with no legs. That’s right. No legs. Seriously, it was as if God was saying, “You think you’ve got it bad? At least you’re young AND you’ve got legs.”